


Desolation

by DearDarling (MissQuill)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Misery, Pain, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissQuill/pseuds/DearDarling
Summary: So what if, besides being all wraithy, Reaper needs to feed off sexual energy to live? I mean he has beautiful thighs and a gorgeous ass, he'd be great at it...and there's so many possibilities! Could be smutty as hell because that's fun! Could be angsty with him hating having to fuck to survive! Could be something else probably! Either way just INCUBUS REAPER.Bonus points for powerbottom Gabriel---Kink meme;Reaper is running low on his awkward life energy. He returns to his usual fill but this time it's not enough, he needs more and thus ends up taking the job of his usual outlet. This ends up in a world of pain as Reaper puts aside pride and safety in favour of survival.





	

He could feel it was getting empty again. The small tankard he somehow had inside him that required him to… do things to live. He oft wondered if this was some sort of punishment for a crime he did in the past. It would make sense, especially since he was never fussed with this sort of activity. To some degree, he felt repulsed by it. He never stopped others from doing it, and he didn’t mind others having fun, but personally he didn’t see the fuss around it. 

Sex, that was. 

It was laughable really because here he was balls deep in a redhaired, petite prostitute. She knew everything because she recognised him from some old files she’d hacked. The prostitute knew and never pretended it was more than him trying to stay alive, and her to make a living. He preferred her for that reason. Ginger, she was aptly called. 

‘Comeon, almost.’ She gently coaxed, twirling her fingers through his hair, her voice as sweet and kind as it had ever been. Ever since Reaper had realised he had to feed off sexual energy to live, he had tried to a myriad of things to gain the energy without participating, but the second-hand energy was never the same and it didn’t provide nearly enough as doing the job himself did. So, he went around trying to find someone clean enough and quiet enough to do the job with, enter Ginger. An ex Overwatch technician’s granddaughter, who had run away from an abusive mother and a non-existent father to become a prostitute; willingly. Ginger had reassured him so many times that no one forced her to be here, she was just saving up to move to a more prostitute-friendly country. Reaper told himself that while he was benefitting from this to some degree so was she. In the end, though he still felt rotten afterwards. 

He felt himself nearing climax, and with the last couple of thrusts pushed deeply into the small creature below him. She wrapped her delicate arms around him and pulled him close as he pulled out and flopped to the side. He didn’t really mind what she did, but he believed that she did this to comfort him. She knew he wasn’t comfortable with this and tried to help in the ways she knew best. Physical contact and sweet words. Reaper himself barely recognised them as such, mostly due to all the pain he was constantly in, and the constant strain of existing put in his mind, he was grateful that she tried either way. 

‘Thanks, Ginger.’ He muttered, sitting up and grabbing his clothes. He felt Ginger shifting next to him and sitting up as well.

‘No Problem, dear. I know you have to do this.’ Wrapping her arms around him again, she gave him a quick squeeze and bounced off the bed, and into the bathroom. Reaper looked at her purse on the desk, and quickly shoved from extra ten dollars in there, just in case. The door to the bathroom swung open with Ginger wrapping her chest and putting her hair up into a slightly masculine hair style.

‘Particular client?’ Reaper asked, eying the chest wrap and boyish clothes in a bag. Ginger giggled and nodded. 

‘He prefers Hispanic boys, but our madam won’t let the boys near him since he has a rather unsultry reputation. She personally doesn’t want any of us to take him, but I offered this week since I only had you today.’ She slipped a bagging t-shirt over her head and sat down next to him, giving him her usual bubbly smile. 

‘Don’t you worry, I’ve still got that gun you made me buy. I went to the range with some of the gigs earlier this week to learn to use it as well. I’ll be fine.’ 

Reaper nodded, spilling into his black coat slowly. Just as he did though a sharper pain shows through his body and he staggered into the wall. Ginger as there in a second, holding his head and shaking him. 

‘Gabby, Gabriel! Can you hear me?’ 

His head buzzed and he considered those concerned eyes that were always calling and making sure that he wasn’t low on his energy.

‘Gabe, please you’re scaring me!’

He slowly managed to sit up and held his head gingerly. His feet and legs were misting and he began to wonder if the energy hadn’t been enough this time. How could he need more? Ginger was always the perfect amount to last a month. Why not this time? He wanted to reach for his mask and wraith away from the room, but he felt his body resist his escape attempts and even worse he felt it trying to give up. He heart ached more than usual and his very bones felt like they were being torn apart.

He let out a pathetic wail as he grabbed on his chest, leaning into the prostitute in front of him. Ginger, bless her, just shifted into his lap, and held onto him tightly, stroking his head and whispering soothing words into his ears.  
‘Its okay, it’ll be over soon; Shh, I’m here. I can go again if I have to; Please be okay, please be okay.’ 

In the end, the pain subsided, and all reaper could think was that Ginger would be late to that creepy client. That thought however stayed, and it festered.

‘I need another person tonight, Ginge.’ He whispered, moving from the floor to the chair, every so often wraithing his hand to make sure he was still… “Alive”. Ginger’s brown eyes cast down and she bit her lip,  
‘I don’t know anyone else who would be able to, we’re really booked tonight.’ 

He didn’t want to say it, but the creepy client might be his only hope that night. He couldn’t wait a day, he’d run out. 

‘Ginger, let me take your next client. I can’t wait…’ He wasn’t saying this, he couldn’t possibly be willing walking into a situation with a stranger. Ginger’s eyes filled slowly with tears as she shook her head violently, her messy red hair almost slapping his face. 

‘Absolutely not, I refuse. You are barely comfortable with me, I can’t allow you-‘ She stopped when she saw Reaper’s hand spasm in and out of wraith form, with Reaper holding his wrist, a pained look in his features.  
‘Ginger, I have to. Just give him to me. I’m Hispanic, I’m male. I’m everything he wants, right? Heck, I still look like I’m in my early twenties in the good light, so he’ll be none the wiser.’ 

He couldn’t believe he was convincing someone to let him be a… whore. A sudden bout of shame washed over him. He wouldn’t look down upon Ginger, who did everything for him, even going so far to lose her home because her last protector and madam said no monster was to be served there. Ginger had left that night and messaged him her new home’s location. But the feeling was still there, the guttural, churning notion that he was asking to sell himself to another man, simply to stay alive. He laughed then. He laughed at the situation he was in, he laughed at his fate, he laughed at his life and his lack of future. Reaper laughed so much he began to wonder if they were sobs. Soon after, though, Ginger was pushing a paper into his hands, her eyes pleading with hope. 

‘He has you for three hours. He will ask for some very degrading things, at this moment in time you are under the protection of Madam WuMei, the Omnic Madame of Eighth street, a car will take you there and a car will take you back. If… if you require medical attention, there is an Onsight doctor who is aware of your situation, as they deal with omnics and humans alike. He will pay you in cash. You will bring the cash back and it will be placed within the madame’s safety box and later checked for forgery. You will be provided with a room after this and time to recover before your protection ends and you will be a civilian. This protection allows you to say no. Say no to anything more than what you need, Gabe, please.’ She was holding his hands and hung her head. 

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more useful to you Gabe.’ She whispered, her voice strained.

Reaper wanted to comfort her, but his own voice was gone as he was accepting what he was about to do. Just to stay alive. 

Was it worth it?

The was a knock at the door, and a gigolo walked into the room with a bag. He smiled at Reaper, who must have looked at least somewhat okay with what was about to go down. 

‘Got your some civvy clothes. Don’t want you to get your uniform messy. Ginger, the Madame wants you to talk to the doctor, just the routine check-up. I’ll help your friend here.’  
Ginger looked as if she was going to protest, but nodded and gave Reaper a final hug, a gentle smile, and a quick ruffle of his hair before she ran out of the room. The gigolo watched her go then walked over to Reaper quietly putting the clothes on the bed as he did. 

‘You’re going to old man Niall Miker; He has a thing for youngish Hispanic guys, but will make due with Hispanic girls if they at least try to look like a guy and do anal. I did him once before, so I’m here to prep you on what to expect and what you must say no to. Okay?’

He felt like he was being lectured, but he understood the urgency of the situation. He stripped down to his underwear while listening to the gigolo speak. 

‘First, he’ll try to get you drunk enough where no doesn’t really cross your mind. Have a sip of your drink and ask to get started, don’t drink it all and don’t do it quickly. This guy uses dulled senses like there’s no tomorrow and it's frightening, trust me. He’ll tie you to the bed with some sheets and start getting you warmed up and ready; this is where you need to be careful, because he may try to go in dry. Don’t let him.’ The gigolo’s voice dropped a few octaves and he looked away, while Reaper changed into the jeans and t-shirt, pulling the hoody on as well. He felt for once like a civilian, and it was quite nice. 

‘So just sex, no funny stuff. Got it.’ He tried to feel undisturbed by what was about to happen, but a portion of him knew that this wasn’t going to happen. He was admittedly starting to feel the tingle of uncertainty in his chest.  
‘He’ll be forceful, but Madame WuMei has your back so if you say no and he disobeys, he will experience the wrath of all the omnic gangs and not a single prostitute, free agent or owned will go back to him. Trust in Madame WuMei, and you’ll be fine.’ 

The brief ended and Reaper felt himself starting to go numb to what he was doing. He saw brief flashes of what was happening around him. Ginger waving from a window. The Car he was in whizzing into the heart of the city. The porter looking confused and perhaps a little sad when he told him which apartment, and finally the door opening to a large obese man smiling at him with a greasy face and worse yet, greasy hands. Reaper excused himself after saying hi and entered the bathroom. He waited a few seconds until he was sure the man was no longer waiting before he vomited into the toilet, his very existence wanting to disappear into nothingness. He wouldn’t do this. He’d rather die than do this. He had to leave. 

The rapping at the door told him his moment to leave and escape this madness had run out, and his stomach dropped faster than he did when Jack Morrison got the promotion over him. He brushed his teeth quickly and washed his mouth out before leaving the bathroom and being met with the big man and… a glass of Mezcal. He hadn’t seen that since his Gabriel Reyes’ grandmother gave that to him for his 16th, citing her family’s age-old tradition of wetting a young mans’ tongue with traditions first then sweet kisses. He remembered Reyes reciting the story to Overwatch and everyone laughing as he tried to explain that his grandfather was going to buy in a prostitute, but his mother had told them both that he was still her baby and he was going to have cake and then go out with friends. Reaper took the glass, allowing the fond memories to whisper in and out of what remained of his memories, even if… he was technically no longer Reyes. 

The greasy hand wrapped around his shoulder and led him to an extravagant bedroom that Reaper hadn’t seen since his Blackwatch days. He felt his mouth open slightly to comment, but instead, he gripped his glass and downed it all in one go. Just as he swallowed it, though, he remembered that he had been told. He had already fucked it up, what a grand start. The man smiled at him, a sickly-sweet smile, the kind that Reaper often saw on Widowmaker’s face after a kill. 

‘Would you like another, young man? You seem nervous to be here. I hope I’m not too grand for you…’ He whispered the last part into Reaper’s ear as he poured more Mezcal into his glass. Reaper began to feel the emptiness in his stomach heave around the alcohol, and he regretted his behaviour instantly. As the seconds passed, however, he found himself sipping to Mezcal slowly, while the old man moved towards him, stripping out of the gown and pushing him onto to bed, slapping the glass out of his hand. Reaper understood quickly and began to undress, pulling his hoody and t-shirt off. Miker, however, grabbed his wrists and pushed him backwards, his fat enveloping his entire person, making the young Hispanic cringe at the sheer volume of disgust he was feeling. Miker’s left hand moved from his wrists, which were securely fastened by his right hand, and slowly began to twist and pinch Reapers nipples and flesh. Reaper squirmed, the discomfort radiating off him; this didn’t deter the man above him, especially as he felt his jeans practically be ripped off him, the force itself causing him to swear loudly. Feeling bruised on his hips and buttocks, Reaper suddenly felt the urge to wraith out of there, but again was met with the resistance that meant he couldn’t. At this moment in time, he was stable so not to waste energy. His body was still tearing itself apart and regenerating, but he couldn’t wraith away. 

‘Boy the things I will do to you…’ Miker whispered, biting into Reaper’s neck, leaving quite possibly an angry, bright red mark in plain sight. His pride was hurting, and it felt like it had been half an hour, but Reaper could see it was only ten minutes. He had another two hours and fifty minutes of this. His chest ached, as the wraither realised slowly that he would rather die than do this. Again, though, he could not wraith away, not even a portion of him to freak the man out. Miker was actually biting him now, breaking the skin and as far as Reaper could feel, gnawing on his actual collar bone. His tilted his head back and remembered what he’d been told.  
‘No! Madame WuMei protec-‘ he was shut up with a violent kiss and a bit on his lower lip, feeling blood spread from his lips to his tongue and down his chin. Reaper’s shock should’ve worn off faster than it did, but the seconds ticked by and Reaper felt that he still couldn’t fathom how he put himself in this situation, just to stay alive. He felt like he would be sick again and wanted to escape. He lifted his fist and started to beat the man above him, he let out a howl and slapped him sharply. Somehow, he rolled off the bed and scrambled to the door. Throughout all this, he didn’t think about the pig behind him. With alarming strength, however, the bastard grabbed hold of his ankle and slapped his buttocks, grinding his belly against him and pushing him against the carpet, his elbows grinding against it and burning. Again, he was pinned below this disgusting creature. Again he could feel an unpleasant length pushing against him. His breaths increased and he started to choke on the air he wasn’t getting. 

“I’m going to die here,” he thought, “I’m going to die here, with a pig’s dick inside me and his fucking fat ass suffocating me.” Tears finally slipped down his face as the monster above him hauled in back onto the bed.  
‘As much as I love a good fight, do as you’re told. A Madame won’t protect a monster like you.’ 

Reaper’s eyes shot open, his eyes slowly wondering to look at his… client. 

‘Do this without protest, and I won’t tell Talon that they’re greatest assets is whoring himself out to stay alive…’ Niall Miker smiled and grabbed reapers legs, keeping him on his back as the young merc accepted his current position through shaky breaths and sore eyes. 

‘…Okay.’ He finally whispered, closing his eyes again and leaning his head back. He couldn’t fight back anymore, even if he had the strength to fight this, Talon would find out by the sounds of it. His pride was too strong to accept that outcome. 

The pig above him smiled and started to slowly stroke his buttocks. Reaper flung his arms over his face and steadied his breaths, flinching from every touch and every movement. He was waiting for the worst to happen and it was taking too long. He couldn’t do this.

‘Just… get it over with.’ He whispered, his voice hoarse and sore. Miker chuckled and moved his engorged member against the healthier male. He could feel the fat folds swallow his legs and he wanted to vomit all over this man’s fancy bedroom, and fancy house. Just as they thought entered his mind, he heard a pop and felt something cold and unpleasant rub against him.

‘I’ll make you enjoy this… Gabriel.’ He whispered, before shoving himself inside.

Reaper bit into his arms and let out a muffled scream, his legs tensing and curling towards him as he tried hard not to focus on the invasive feeling. Pigman above him rocked as much as he could, but Reapers legs got in the way of the attempt. To remedy this, Miker pushed Reaper’s legs further back then they had ever meant. His joints strained and he let out a pathetic whine, feeling the skin stretch in painful directions. Just before he thought his hips would dislocate, the pigman stopped and began to thrust into him, slowly. With each violent squelch, Reaper felt bile rise higher and higher in his throat. A warm pit in his stomach grew, but simultaneously it shrank, his disgust rivalling his body’s arousal. The slow, sloppy attempts to arouse him didn’t help either. 

Eventually, his sense of time stopped, and Reaper just lay there, the man slowing fucking him. Amidst this disgust, however, Reaper felt a sense of strength growing within him. While he may not be reacting sexual energy, his… partner certainly was. He’d never felt such energy radiating towards him, and that small hole within him ached with yearning. He felt his gut stir and his mind wonder as a whisper in his head shouted,

‘I need more!’

Reaper’s gut churned and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He violently tore himself away and vomited over the edge of the bed, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction that the bastard had to clean this up, but at the same time, he realised he was in an even more compromising position. The pigman growled and grabbed his hair, pulled him backwards and bending his back in ways he couldn’t understand.

‘How are you! Filthy immigrant bastard!’ he slapped Reyes’ head against the headboard and the Hispanic assassin’s mind rang with confusion. The man pulled out, and to Reaper’s relief, he saw that he only had thirty minutes left of the torture. The weight left the bed and he managed to steal a look at himself. He almost vomited again.

The man had left a massive deep pink stain on the sheets, and Reaper could guess that it was partial blood… and semen. He curled up, trying to find his jeans, and get out of there as soon as possible. He could wraith now, he could feel it beginning to grow again. He was done for what felt like a year. Just as he was hopping into his jeans and flinging his t-shirt on, Miker turned up again with a scowl on his face. Reaper’s heart dropped and he tried desperately to dress faster so he could run past the man. This was unsuccessful, however, and soon enough Miker had him on the floor again, this time holding him by his neck. 

‘Since you ruined my carpet, I’m going to ruin you, you fucking twink.’ He growled.

Reaper’s brain ran at a thousand miles an hour when he felt the large, hard object pushing into him. He let out a wretched howl and struggled anew, no longer accepting this for his life. It wasn’t worth this much pain anymore. Just as he thought he was free, the pigman lifted him up and put him on his lap, holding him down and again biting his neck. His jeans were down by his knees and he found no way to break free of the hold he was in. Reaper let out a panicked yelp and struggled, but whenever he moved whatever was inside him moved as well, and it hurt. It hurt so much he could barely make it without sobbing again. Damn his body for regenerating, damn the Mercy for doing this to him. It was all her fault, if she knew if she could only fucking understand.

He stopped his train of thoughts, as he felt the obese man lift him up and try to force himself inside him again; dry, and with the other object still inside. Reaper gasped, he had to get out, he couldn’t survive this, he wouldn’t he had to. The feeling of nothingness engulfed him as he suddenly wraithed away. He didn’t know where, and he didn’t know how, but whatever the pigman was doing, it fell out and he was gone. Dusty black clouds shimmered through the sky as he travelled to where ever the nanobots were taking him. He felt a sense of gratitude. Maybe Talon had found a way to summon him, maybe he was doing this of his own volition. Maybe, he was dead. Suddenly the feelings of the world returned to him, and he was outside in an ally way. His jeans were undone and he had no socks or shoes. His hoody has also been left behind. It was cold against his newly reformed skin, and he wondered ever so slightly if he had just told himself to escape without a mind of where to go. It seemed the case, as looking around told him nothing. 

He sat there, quietly contemplating if what he had just gone through was truly worth it, when he felt the warm patch slowly soaking his jeans. He felt his head buzz with confusion and he lolled to the side, staring at the many people rushing past, but not seeing him. He sat there for what felt like hours until someone stopped and turned towards him. Reaper looked at them, and his gut clenched.

Dr Angela Ziegler looked back. Her body didn’t react, but she knew who he was. He could tell in the way she stood as if she was expecting him to be able to kill her as he was now. This lasted a few seconds before she moved towards him, and he like some rapid animal scrambled back, stumbling to his feet, and leaning against the wall. 

‘Gabriel…’ She whispered, slowly reaching out towards him as if she could ever remedy what he just had to do because of her. She may be a pacifist, but he knew she was a monster. He knew he knew!

When she finally managed to touch his arm, despite the power surge he’d felt earlier, he didn’t have the energy to move or think. He just wanted to lie down and die. He saw in her eyes that she wanted to help. He knew that she wanted to help, that she could. She could see the blood on his jeans, she could see the bruises and the bite marks. She could probably see the terror that he was trying to desperately to hide. Gabriel Reyes looked up at his old friend and hung his head, shame carving its way through his body.

‘Come on… let’s get you cleaned up.’ She whispered, tucking an arm under his armpit and slowly led him out the alley, and towards a car at the end of the street. Reyes didn’t have the energy to care anymore.

\---  
When he awoke, he was in a hospital gown. He was wearing fresh underwear and he was clean. His neck wasn’t bandaged but he still felt the phantom pains that danced across his skin and around his nether region. He knew he could heal away his injuries, but the pain still lingered, as if even his nanobots want to remind him to never do that again. He lay there, contemplating this possibility when he heard a door being opened and a couple of voices reaching his room.

‘Kill him?! Jack he has been through hell I refuse, especially after-‘

‘Kill him. I won’t ask you to do it, but I’m here to do it for you.’

‘I trusted you! How can you tell me that you will kill my patients!?’

‘That man in there is not a patient, he is a monster. A monster who created himself, you only gave him a second chance at life.’

‘I made him a bundle of irrational, angry little nano-bots. He is in constant pain, I don’t know what else he needs to do to stay alive but if you hurt him while he is in my custody I will report you to whoever will listen.’ 

He heard this, and all the while he knew who she was talking to. Jack Morrison, as heartless as always. He smiled, a part of him wanted to let him kill him. But then again, he did not go through all that just to die. He sat up, and examined himself quietly, looking around for an open window or a vent he could leave through. He had to return to Ginger anyway and his gears. He spied a mirror in the corner, and briefly made out his face. He was bruised, and his eyes looked blackened. He looked so hopeless and miserable, he wondered who he was even looking at. This is the great reaper, mercenary and murderer. The man who murdered Overwatch agents without hesitation, yet couldn’t bring down one fat piggy. This was who he was. In constant pain, holding onto his anger like his only lifeline. Whatever he had been cursed with, it wasn’t a punishment he had deserved. He heard the door open and within a snap of a second he wraithed out of them and out an open window. He heard Jack Morrison swearing and Mercy telling him to get over himself. He wraithed until he ran out of distance and then walked through the alleyways. He was quiet the entire time. By the time he researched Eighth street, he could see a bag with his name on it by his usual alleyway. He quickly dressed and contacted Talon.

‘Extraction.’ He simply said, moving to the usual point. He was allowed 24 hours of unadulterated freedom from them once a week. This was his weekly 24 hours of freedom. He waited and when the helicopter arrived he met the stoic face of Widowmaker. 

‘What are you doing here?’ He growled.

Widowmaker shrugged, 

‘I was told I was to meet you, that is all.’ Her accent was thick, but the charming purr never left it, even when she was speaking to those she detested. He was one of them.

‘Whatever.’ He said, shoving past her and limping to the far corner of the chopper. Widowmaker sat down opposite him.

‘I heard you met the Pigman.’ She whispered, a delighted smirk covering her lips.

Reaper didn’t care how she knew because he was reading the note left by his clothes.

“Gabe, I’m sorry. I got worried and I went in. I knew what he’d done. I had to. Someone has found me, they said they’d protect me from now on so don’t you worry.  
They’re called Talon, they said they would help you too if I told them everything.  
Lots of Love  
Ginger.”

Reaper’s stomach dropped, as he looked at the screen above Widowmaker’s head. Ginger’s hair was sprawled on the floor, her crushed broken head mattering the ground around it. 

‘Talon has rescinded your freedom, mon Cheri.’


End file.
